


Hearts and Parts

by fragrantwoods



Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Organ Transplantation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 14:26:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13078776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragrantwoods/pseuds/fragrantwoods
Summary: A fix-it-of-sorts fic to deal with Major Crimes S6 Ep9 in which Sharon Raydor does not ignore her doctor's call so she can yell at a suspect, but does the grown-up rational thing instead.





	Hearts and Parts

 

“Hey, babe.” Andy picked up her hand, keeping a watchful eye on the attached tubes. Sharon blinked a couple of times, then smiled sleepily.

“Did I fall asleep?”

“Just for a few minutes. I figured you could use it.” He tuned out the beeps and whirs of the monitors and machines surrounding his wife. This was the second time they’d gotten to this point: no food, lots of machinery, twitching whenever the door opened. The next person in could be the one telling them it was “go” time, they had the right donor, a good match…or it could be someone with sympathetic eyes telling them it wouldn’t be happening tonight, there was a problem with the donor heart.

Sharon moved restlessly in the hospital bed. “If they’re not going to do this, I wish they’d hurry up and say so.” She gave him a wry grin. ”Nobody said cardiomyopathy would be so boring.”’

She was putting up a good front but he wished she didn’t feel she had to do it for him. Or maybe this was just Sharon. It’s not like they’d had years of married life to get to know everything about each ot—His throat tightened. That line of thinking would have him useless. To her, her, well, _their_ family. They were getting more time, right here, right now.

“I could read to you. I might get some of the names wrong, but I’ll do my best.” He glanced down at the historical novel she’d packed what seemed like days ago: ballet and Degas and turn of the century intrigue. She hadn’t realized the pre-op drugs would blur her vision so much and had put it down sometime…last night? Earlier this morning? His sense of time was getting as wonky as hers.

“I’d like that.” She raised up on her elbows, surveyed the room, then drifted down again. “Do you think he’s here? Or her? On this hall, I mean?” Her brow wrinkled and the corners of her mouth tightened. He had seen her peer into a family waiting room as she was being wheeling into the holding area, trying and not trying to see the family of her potential donor. He was grateful now that he’d taken the time to listen to the transplant coordinator, even with his mind racing about everything else.

“Sharon, remember the helicopter pad we saw from the window? The heart was flown in hours ago from another hospital. That poor family—whoever they are—are in another building, maybe in another town.” His throat tightened again and he swallowed hard. “They’ve got support people with them, I’m sure. They had to have, to make that kind of—“ He broke off, tears welling, and grabbed a tissue off the bedside tray.

Andy hated to lie to her…the family was likely in this same hospital but far away, near the ER, he figured. If there _was_ a family—it had been a shooting in a crime-infested part of LA, and the victim had had “donor” marked on her ID. He wondered if he should go to confession over his joy at hearing someone else’s tragedy.

He wondered if he’d ever tell her that, or that he’d prayed for a good clean head shot, the sooner the better.

“Oh, Andy,” she said, her face clearing again. “Do you know, that’s just what I needed to hear right now?” She rubbed his hand. “You’re so good to me. Yeah, I’d like to hear some of my book, if you don’t mind. And have some ice chips.”

He settled back with the paperback book, leaning against the side of the bed, and tried to remember enough high school French to get the names and places right.

 

**************

_”I can do this,” she said, a determined glint in her eye.”_ He put a finger in the book to hold his place. He wanted to take a break, he wanted to keep going, watching her face change expressions as he read the happy parts, the frustrating parts. And the dreamy look that came over her when the young girls began their ballet lessons made it doubly worthwhile…they’d stopped and started more than once, as the lines called to her mind some detail about Emily’s lessons or a question about his grandson’s progress.

The nurse and the doctor had come in at intervals, keeping them updated on the testing. Things were looking positive, they’d said. Not much longer. Dread and hope swirled in his heart. He wanted the surgery, of course he did…but what she’d have to go through to get there was almost unbearable. He wished he didn’t know so much about the mechanics of what was about to take place.

Maybe it was different when it was a transplant instead of an autopsy. It’d have to be, right?

Surely?

Emily had come in with Ricky, a short visit rattling on about plans and what Sharon would want to eat when she came home. Ricky had gingerly sat on the bed, holding her hand and telling her that he’d take care of Rusty and Emily and Andy while she was recovering. He’d left with a "Hamilton" quote, _"See you on the other side",_  keeping it together even when she quoted back " _Til we meet again_."

Andy watched him hunch over for a second outside the door, outside of Sharon’s sight, then motion Rusty to go in.

_Rusty._

Andy had stayed seated while the older kids were there, but something about Rusty’s posture made him get to his feet and put an arm around him while he talked to his mom. Emily and Ricky would have each other, and he would be there for all of them, like he’d promised, but Rusty would be so much more alone. He thought for a second about walking with Rusty back into the condo, trying to re-make a family of three into a family of two, and his arm tightened.

_I can’t._

_You could if you had to._

_I don’t want to have to._

_I know._

Had he said that out loud? Surely he hadn’t, but Sharon’s smile, so full of warmth and love, and almost too much understanding, made him wonder. No, he hadn’t said that out loud, she was just that good at knowing what he was thinking.

“So, you won’t be able to lift anything even as heavy as a carton of milk for a while, so I figured I could put some individual servings into containers—that flavored water you like, salad, may some frittata squares…” Rusty’s voice trailed off as her eyes fluttered closed. “Mom?”

“That sounds perfect, honey. Maybe some diced red peppers in that frittata?” Her voice was breathy and soft—she was getting too tired for talk, but still kept going, giving her youngest son something normal and homey to carry with him today.

Andy gave him a sympathetic smile and nodded towards the door. There was a subtle increase of activity outside, a humming undercurrent of making ready.

Without conscious thought, he realized that if the transplant was going to be scrubbed, they’d have heard by now.

He needed to make ready, as well. He patted Rusty’s back as he left. “I’ll be out there with you guys as soon as she goes in.”

“Andy?” Her voice had gotten fainter.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” He looked down at the discarded book. _Maybe in our next life we can meet early enough so I can see her dance_. “Want me to read some more?”

“Un-uh. Just sit here.”

He started to sit in the hospital chair and she stopped him with a minute shake of her head.

“Here.” She patted the side of her bed.

There were even more tubes and wires to shove out of the way, but he made a place to sit, then half-lie by her side. Carefully, with his help, she rested her cheek on his chest.

“Umm…your heartbeat is so strong. So loud.” She looked up at him, green eyes sparkling, if slightly out of focus. “I like that.” She put her head back down. “Think my new one will be that loud?”

He stroked her hair, tears finally trickling down his face now that no one could see. “No doubt. It’s gonna be a great one, I bet. They wouldn’t dare put a wimpy heart into Darth Raydor.”

Her chuckle was like angels laughing.

He stayed there when the doctor came in.

He stayed there when they began to hustle and bustle around the bed, moving and re-hooking and telling him “you’re fine, stay there.”

He stayed there until they unlatched the brakes on the bed and it became the gurney that would take her away.

He nodded and signed something and acted like he was processing every word about yes, she still intended to be an organ donor, if…if she needed to be.

Eyes.

Kidneys.

Lungs.

Skin.

A green shower cap covered her hair, and for a second he hated that, as he leaned in to give her a kiss.

“Love you,” she whispered. “See you soon.”

“Love you too, Sharon. I’ll be waiting right outside.”

The staff carefully rolled the bed out the door, to the theater where they’d crack her open and switch out the bad heart, trading it for a new one, like she was just a collection of parts. It was amazing.

It was horrifying.

It was hope.

Andy sat by the empty space where her bed had been, running his fingers over the bright embossed book cover.

_She’d want to hear the rest of the story._

He settled in to wait for whatever came next.

_She’d want to hear how the story ended._

He hoped it was happy.

 ~~~Fin~~

 


End file.
